


Gabriel Benedict and the Resistance

by kalypsobean



Category: Alex Benedict - Jack McDevitt
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, alternate POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:05:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel suspects the <i>Tenandrome</i> came across something it shouldn't have, something hidden from history. (Or, if Gabriel kept a diary separate from his file.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gabriel Benedict and the Resistance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salable_mystic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salable_mystic/gifts).



> Happy holidays to salable_mystic! I do hope you like your gift.

i.

There are so many stories, so many different versions of the same few tales, that sorting through the legend to find even one first grain of truth has been difficult. I know there must be something there, because there had been something to see, out there in the Veiled Lady. It had driven Scott to breaking point; to my knowledge, he still has not recovered himself. Something that can do that to a solid man is something worth discovering; the value, in terms of potential, to our knowledge and understanding, of such a discovery... it is something that our society perhaps needs, to break this ongoing cycle of skirmishes and squabbles, to remind ourselves of the price of war.

Scott came back talking about the Resistance. It is there I must start, to find out what he saw, and with the _Tenandrome_ , to find out where.

 

ii.

The more I uncover, or, perhaps a better expression is put together, I wonder that it hasn't been considered before. This particular period, and these specific figures - Sims, Talino - are so widely known and written on; it seems to me that any historiographer who studied them well enough to publish would have followed the path to this very point. It is not so much a leap to consider them in tandem, to consider literature as a source, to wonder if the story that we are mythologising is as accurate as it could be.

If not for Scott, and now the striking similarity to the descriptions of Leisha on her return, I would dismiss this as a chase left for someone more spirited, with ambition. I feel, though, that I owe him, to explain him to his family. 

 

iii.

The military, of course, classify everything that they can possibly have a reason to hide, even a Survey record; the effort makes the _Tenandrome_ 's journey more anomalous than if they had let it slip through, just another file.

Between Scott and the poem, it would have only narrowed my search, perhaps caused it to be easier to explain. But there are as many stories about it as there are about Sims, and this brings attention to it, and therefore to me. "They saw a ship," someone says, "but they couldn't get close to it," and I feel eyes on me, as if I am being watched.

 

iv.

Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to record my notes on paper, as we used to do, long ago. What sound would a pen make as it scratched across a book? What would the pages smell like?

It is thoughts like this that sometimes revive my curiosity, should it wane. If this file were on paper, what would it like? Would it be neat and ordered, sorted by entry date and evidence type? Would I write as I speak, and the file be filled with thoughts that I haven't yet formed, and lines connecting them where I cross out the parts in between that don't fit the puzzle, make a new narrative?

I wonder, if I put this to paper, would it be inviolate? Would it still be possible to silence me, if what I barely begin suspect is in fact the truth?

 

v.

It is rare in any field for a single discovery to change so much, so swiftly. I can see, now, why Scott turned in the manner he did; it is rare, in my field, for a discovery of such magnitude to come without implications. Of course they want this kept as silent as the graves of those who were there; it would not be unprecedented for these sorts of things to be hidden away, but rarely is there something to discover, a treasure, a remnant, an artifact of what was. A trail, left for me to follow.

I have made arrangements for my nephew, should this foreboding come to more than an old man's silly whim, that he could so change the world. He will have to finish this, if I cannot. It has to be done, I think; while there is still time to bring it all back down, and perhaps, we can build something better in its place.

 

vi.

It has come the point where there is no more that I can discover, here, in our great libraries and museums or in my own collection. There is less than I would have thought, on this trail. And yet, I have enough to seek out the final proof.

I have not told anyone of my suspicions, that which I know to be true and which I need something big, something real and solid, as definitive proof. It would not be prudent to go alone, where any report I came back with would be discredited. I have asked Kolpath to corroborate my findings; it is of secondary benefit that asking her to fly our craft will leave me able to record what we see, to take readings and data that will back up our log. If it is truly there, and intact, then I must wonder how it is that nobody has come for me yet, to tell me that I have changed in much the way Hugh Scott has changed; it is true that I have lapsed in my social life, somewhat, engaged in pursuit of this.

It is also true that I should be forgiven were I to return with this new discovery.

 

vii.

The _Capella_ is like any other ship of its class, utilitarian and streamlined, with a spectacular view of nothing. Armstrong space resembles a void, so the outer walls are opaqued. Nobody saw it coming, the frigate; they say it's impossible to navigate non-linear space, but that's what they say it is. I suspect that it is using a weapons guiding system to lock onto us, but the crew members who run past me are saying it is merely an accident, our deflectors have held up and will prevent further damage, if we could please return to our cabins.

I wonder how it will report back, the frigate. Once it has knocked us irrevocably off course, will it return at all? Will they suspect that their secret is safe, and leave my nephew to reveal it in peace?

The walls shimmer and become translucent; the _Capella_ is using emergency fuel as the Armstrong drive runs low. 

I choose not to look.


End file.
